Not A Problem
by Bibliotheque
Summary: It's a nice day. Tonbo can't see it, but that's not a problem. It'd be a weakness if it were a problem, and Tonbo is most certainly not weak.


Another Tonbo drabble. This one's set in the normal Narutoverse, so it's not full of druggies or transsexuals or whatehaveyous.

Rating: PG13 for naughty language.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!

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It was a nice day, all sunny and bright and cloudless. Tonbo could tell by the way the heat struck his face, by the way the sunlight turned the air into a warm, golden haze wrapping around him, covering every inch of his body. It wasn't quite uncomfortable, though it would have been if he'd been wearing more clothing. As it was, the shorts and sleeveless t-shirt were almost too much, and he kept having to resist the urge to discretely check--for probably the fifth damn time all day--that he really did have his pants on the right way.

Tonbo could tell that it was a nice day because he felt the sun warming his skin and the air was thick and hot when he breathed in. He could tell by the heat of the almost dead grass that crunched under his feet and from the metal rivets in the bench.

But he couldn't see the sky stretching out to meet the trees reaching up to it way out in the forest, soft blue and cloudless. He couldn't see the grass distorted through shimmering heat waves, couldn't see the treetops the sky was touching, couldn't see the sun hanging bright and blazing in the middle of that clear, blue sky. It was a bright, sunny day, with birds chirping and children playing and just enough of a breeze to keep it from getting too hot, the air moist but not quite muggy, but he couldn't fucking _see_ it.

It was still hard to believe. Hard for him to even grasp it, the enormity of what he'd lost. Of what had been _taken_ from him, taken by that fucking invader in his own goddamn body. It was still trying to sap away his strength, so he took medication that made him feel sick--but not that sick. He'd never be that sick again, or he'd just take a kunai to his own throat--and trained until he was too exhausted to stand up. That gave him his strength back, but nothing in the world would ever give him his sight back.

And sometimes, when he couldn't even get up out of bed because of how much it _hurt_, because of the pain that wrapped around his leg and back and stomach and head and _squeezed_ until he could hardly breathe, he didn't even have strength. At times like that, he didn't have a single damn thing except for crushing blackness that would never, ever leave. Sometimes that forced the breath from his lungs even more than the pain did. When he woke up in the middle of the night and fumbled for the light, panting and sweating, fingers trembling so badly as to be almost useless from some nameless dread that froze his blood, and there was the click but nothing _happened_, it was almost enough to make him want to just break down.

But he wouldn't let himself be that weak. He was already so weak he couldn't see, so weak he could hardly stand. His emotions were all he could control, and by god, he would control them with an iron fucking fist. Everything he felt, disappointment and hurt and fear and sadness and every single thing, was kept bottled up deep inside until finally he had to release it or be crushed under the pressure. So he let it out as anger, explosive and unpredictable and fiery. He let it out in seething, burning vitriol, in words so loaded with venom they stung as they left his lips. He let it out in spontaneous, unbidden violence at the tiniest slight, whether real or imagined.

Tonbo lashed out at everyone around him in the agony of being helpless. Every time someone said something the least bit pitying to him, bitter bile rose up in his throat and he spat out acid at them. Because he was helpless and he _knew_ he was helpless, he did everything he could to keep other people from realizing it. He didn't need their damn pity, because he was dealing with it just fine. He didn't need their damn sympathy and support and kindness, because they didn't understand anyway. They had no fucking idea what it was really like and he didn't need any of it, didn't need any of _them._ Tonbo was weak, but he didn't need anyone. He wouldn't let himself need anyone.

It was a bright, sunny day, but Tonbo couldn't see it. He didn't give a damn, though. It wasn't a fucking problem and he didn't need help or pity or comfort or anything. Tonbo just sat there and stared straight up into the sky and sucked down bitter, acrid smoke from his cigarettes. That bitterness was a much easier pill to swallow than admitting how weak and helpless and dependent he really was.

It was much easier to just sit back and take another drag off the cigarette and not care. It was a very nice fucking day, after all.


End file.
